


Various Reader inserts

by ShipVigilante (CaxceberXVI)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Buried Alive, Gen, Multi, Non Gender Specific Reader, Other, Self-Insert, Sleepy Cuddles, batman telltale - Freeform, take a hammer to the canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28556289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaxceberXVI/pseuds/ShipVigilante
Summary: just a bunch of reader x character prompts from various fandoms. mostly batman stuff right now but ill entertain the idea of other fandoms .i am taking the odd request so hmu here or on tumblr if you're interested
Relationships: reader/ riddler
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	Various Reader inserts

**Author's Note:**

> chapter summary:  
> Telltale riddler x reader   
> you are a meta human with healing/mending powers, mostly new to gotham and a little out of the loop. you usually work in a hospital but you've headed to the scrapyard after work to find some useful parts to repair and few side projects. that's when you find a most unusual box buried under the trash.

Scrounger they called you. Scavenger, trash rat people said. You didn't care, desperate times call for desperate measures. Since waller came to town, Gothams villainous underclass could hardly scratch their ass without her knowing. You weren't a criminal, far from it. You were a meta human; a healer, a mender of broken things. Your powers could put anything back together: from bones and minds to fenders and fixtures . Heroes and villains alike came to you ; for aid, for repairs and occasionally, just for the attention. That’s what brought you back to the junkyard night after night. Things were becoming scarce, it was harder to find parts to fix things, even harder to find the supplies to fix people. You had some equipment, but right now you were barely keeping the lights on. So off to the gotham trash heap You went, slipping the gate guard some home made cake to keep his mouth closed while you picked through for something usable. Decent things could be repaired, repaired things could be sold. 

You were about to call it quits when you saw it. A Coffin, or at least you thought so . Hopefully it was just a storage pod, maybe with goodies in it. But this was Gotham and luck wasn't on your side: no one ever threw away anything good. Finding a dead body would put you out on the wrong side of midnight and you were in no mood to deal with the gcpd. You hated late nights.

It wouldn't have been so out of place in your day job, people tended to die in hospitals. But after hours? rummaging through a scrap heap for spare parts? now that was concerning. You nearly ignore it, make a mental note to call the cops and head on your merry way back home. But You can't; the temptation of supplies is too great to ignore. Besides, even if it was a body, the thought of someone being thrown away like garbage is too much to handle. “Just a peak” You promised yourself, just to make sure it’s not a body. You can always come back tomorrow if it’s anything good.

It takes you a while to clear all the rubbish from the lid. It was buried under weeks if not months of trash and refuse. The thought of a person winding up like this made your stomach turn. You’d heard of people winding up in dumps before, but usually they were in pieces, maybe in a suitcase or a fridge. You’d never heard of a whole casket turning up in one.

not till now at least. 

Up close, it does look more like a fridge. It's cold to the touch too, colder than it should be in mid september. A thin layer of condensation is trickling out of the seams, a faint red battery light flickers every now and then. You stick your thumbs into the slim opening and pull. The lid doesn’t budge. Frustrated you stand back in your precarious foothold in the trash, cans and bottles rolling to the ground from under your feet. You could pull it down to ground level, have a better standing to pry it open. But disturbing the trash mountain could bury you and the box before you ever get a look inside. 

Running your hands along the edge, you look for a way in. There’s what looks like a turn dial on top, like on an old safe. Could it be that easy? You flipped up the handle and pressed your ear to the cold metal to listen for the gentle click of mechanical parts. You’re about to start turning when the box hisses, frigid air ruffles your hair and sends a shiver down your spine. The box begins to unfurl, spider like latches spread out snagging your jeans as they went. “Damn it!” you swore, grabbing at your shin as a thin trickle of blood made its way down and into your boot. That was your last good pair of trousers too. You lent against the edge of the box for balance to examine the cut. But when your hand brushed something soft, you froze in place. Mousey brown hair tinged silver at the roots, a domino masked face fixed in place by rigor mortis. 

As you feared; A body.

You might have suspected as much, but it still wasn't a pleasant find. The man looked as though he was sleeping, only a few patches of bruising, a little decay and a thin layer of frost that covered his body suggested otherwise . Fans whirled, frost began to evaporate from his skin leaving it a sickly gray. But this poor soul wasn't the only horrifying thing about the coffin. All along the inner walls were deep gouges that could only have been made by him “god…” you murmured crouching down beside him. A quick glance at his bloodied hands confirmed the worst; whoever this was, they’d been alive when they’d been put inside. “poor thing.” you reach out to gently thumb a split just under his eye “who did this to you?” Between your thumb and his face there was a tiny, almost imperceptible blue spark.

Now. you would by no means call yourself an expert, but you weren't fumbling in the dark with your powers. You could fix a lot of wounds, most non fatal injuries. But you’d never brought someone back from the dead.

Especially not by accident.

When your hand made contact, the person jolted awake like they’d been hit by lightning. The man lurched to life, gasping like he hasn't breathed in weeks. Colour came flooding back to his face as he claws at the air for purchase. He whips around frantically, face smeared with dry blood and green eyes faintly milky in colour “HOLY SHIT!” You yelled. Panicked he throws himself over the edge of the coffin, knocking you back in the process. Together you tumble down the rubbish pile landing in a heap at the bottom “ow.” you breathe, hoping the pain you feel is just a bruise forming and not cracked ribs. As the dust settles you heave yourself upright, looking around for the man “ shit.” you murmur watching him squirm away, obviously scared and confused out of his mind. He face-planted in the dirt once more as he makes stuttering attempts to get to his feet, barely managing to crawl along the ground. He’s hyperventilating, head on a swivel as he tries to take in every angle at once “hey” you call, lifting yourself up “ are you hurt?!” The man twists around on the spot to look at you, face a picture of terror “n-nuh!” he holds up a hand in defence as he tries to back away“st-stay awa-aw- its ok!” he has a shard of broken glass clutched in his hands, so tightly they’ve started to bleed. Or so you think, It's hard to tell with all the blood that is already staining his clothes. Despite all logic telling you to run for the hills, you crouched down to his level, hands out to show you meant no threat “ i'm not going to hurt you” you soothed staying very still.

As quickly as he had sprung to life, he suddenly went motionless again. He sagged the rest of the way to the ground, whimpering like a kicked animal as he retracts his hands to his chest. He’s making noise, muttering incoherently, his eyes flickering left and right blindly and unseeing. He’s wide awake but nowhere near conscious. The lights are on but it seems like no one's home. 

Sighing deeply you roll your shoulders.

This was going to be a late night. 

**Author's Note:**

> its only part 1! please dont hate me, ill be working on the rest as soon as i post this. also im a little bit sorry for torturing riddler like this. 
> 
> and im going to make it worse because im terrible >:)


End file.
